


May the Odds Be Ever in Your Favor

by Themreaper



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/F, Hunger Games, Hunger Games AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-03-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:27:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Themreaper/pseuds/Themreaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Each year two tributes from each District, a boy and a girl, are offered to the Capitol to fight to the death in the televised event, The Hunger Games. Relationships and alliances will be made along the way, but will they remain when one victor has to remain standing? (Hunger Games AU)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reaping

**Author's Note:**

> So I was watching Catching Fire the other day and my love of the Hunger Games resurrected and I thought "Why not mix my two favorite things?" Originally, this was just going to be a yumikuri thing (OTP) but I realized it would be a lot more interesting if there were separate POVs from different characters as well. (I'm a George R.R. Martin fan can you tell?) 
> 
> So here you go, Attack on Titan characters in the same universe as the Hunger Games
> 
> Also it has been a long time since I've written ANYTHING. Chances are there will be a few mistakes even if I did obsessively check it.

Breakfast did little to calm Krista’s frazzled nerves, her family uncharacteristically silent as each of them ate, tension in the air between them. Krista was sure other families would have held hands that day, but hers chose to ignore the events ahead all together, as they did every year.

 

To begin with, Krista’s relationship with her family was already strained. Her father constantly regarded her with eyes full of resentment, and her mother’s full of sadness. When she was a child, a single look from her father could make her feel unwanted and confused, and even send her into a bout of tears. It wasn’t until Krista got older, and looked at herself in the mirror that she finally understood the angry glances and the tightening of his mouth. To put it shortly, she was either a genetic anomaly, or…..

 

The clearing of a throat, distracted Krista from her thoughts. Her blue eyes glanced at her mother. “Todays the day….” Her mother said, her voice straining. “We need to make sure you look presentable.” 

 

No one wanted to say it. Not the word. The reaping. The day the Capitol put children to death. Krista’s name was going to be put into that accursed bowl four times. She was unlucky enough to have had her 15th birthday just a month prior, not that it would have mattered much. There were a lot children in District 3, so she had about as much chance being picked as the others.

 

The routine had become more and more familiar to her each passing year. Still, in the back of her mind a sick part of her almost wanted to be picked. Like maybe she could win and give everyone in her District hope. Which was ridiculous. Krista had zero fighting skill, and her tiny, fragile body certainly didn’t help matters. There was no pride in being picked in District 3 unlike some of the other Districts; District 1 having a handful of career tributes as opposed to her district which had zero. District 3 had one winner in the past, but from what Krista had heard, she was a little on the crazy side. 

 

Krista looked back her mother with a sad smile and nodded, “Maybe I could wear my hair up…?”

 

~~~~~

 

Each age group had a separate section, all years roped off from other years. Krista stood somewhere in the middle, those around her completely silent. No one spoke a word at the reapings, mostly out of fear of being hit. District 3 was notorious for “rebel-like attitude”. In the past, there had been participants unwilling to be held down, but that changed very quickly when the Peacekeepers had beaten them within an ounce of their life. Now, everyone stood side-by-side in absolute fear, the younger ones murmuring to one another..

 

The blonde fidgeted with the small bow on her chest. Of course, her mother had insisted she wear it. To her, it had become a symbol of good luck. Krista had worn the same bow when she was twelve, and since then her mother wanted her to wear it at every reaping. “You haven’t been picked yet,” she said, “Let’s keep it that way.’

 

Krista risked a glance at the boy’s side, part of her wondering who was going to be picked. She wasn’t particularly good friends with most of the boys, though they seemed to think differently. When she was younger, many of them tried to win her heart with gifts and charming words. Yes, she thought their advances were sweet, but no matter how hard she tried, she felt no romantic feelings for any of them. The connection wasn’t there. While all the girls around her were going doe-eyed over boys, Krista just wasn’t interested, much to her friends’ dismay.

 

The Peacekeepers formed a square around the tributes, their stances wide and threatening, arms crossed behind their backs and batons holstered at the hip. It would be impossible for anyone to get either in or out unharmed. Their presence always made Krista feel uneasy. Too many times had she watched the Peacekeepers harm innocent people. It was hard to imagine there was a human beneath that helmet. 

Silence fell as a very eccentric-looking female walked up to the mic, her bright blue hair matching the eyeshadow that went up to her eyebrows, and the 4-inch stilettos that she stumbled on as she walked up the stairs to the stage. Her face lit up as she tapped the microphone, a grin spreading across her face, making Krista feel a little queasy. “Tributes, Tributes…..Hello, and welcome to the reaping for the Hunger Games!” The woman’s tone was cheerful, as if she announcing the arrival of a rockstar. “Now, before we begin, I just want to say I have a strong feeling that this District will have a victor this year! I mean, each District should win at least one year, right?” 

 

The woman pointed to the glass bowl at her right. “Since girls went first last year, what do you say we switch it up?” She waited as if someone would respond to her which, of course, they didn’t. “Now, for the boys…!” She stepped to the right, and stuck her heavily manicured hand into the bowl, taking her sweet time choosing. When the woman’s hand finally emerged, she smirked, walking back to the microphone. “The boy that will represent District 3 in this year’s Hunger Games is……..” She broke the seal, reading carefully over the name before opening her mouth. “Armin Arlert!” 

 

A pause followed the announcement. Everyone was hushed.. It seemed like an eternity until the boys parted, letting the called tribute pass. Krista remembered Armin. He was her age, and looked almost identical to her, what with his blonde hair and icy blue eyes. Many people had mistaken the two of them as siblings, sometimes even twins. He was short for his age, being just a few inches taller than Krista, who was probably the shortest of her entire age group. Usually he was in high spirits when the two talked, but now, even from a distance, Krista could see he was visibly shaking. 

 

As Armin walked up to the stage, he seemed to be in another world. The woman at the microphone smiled menacingly and held her hand out to him. Armin ignored it, standing as still as a statue as he stood beside her. He was crying. 

 

The woman patted his shoulders, “What a fine, young man!” She called to the audience, “I’m sure you will represent District 3 well!” She sauntered back to the microphone, “Now for the girls.”

 

The woman walked to the other glass bowl to her left, stuck her hand in and repeated the process. She held the piece of paper over her head, as she walked up to the microphone, pausing when she stood in front of it. “The girl who will represent District 3 in this year’s Hunger Games will be….” 

 

Krista’s palms felt sweaty as the woman broke the seal and held the paper out in front her. Krista’s sense went into overloaded. Her heartbeat hammered in her eardrums, and she could hear the breathing of the girls next to her, which were shaky. Time seemed to go into slow motion until the woman opened her mouth once again. 

 

“Mina Carolina!” 

 

And that’s when everything exploded. 

 

Two girls from both older and younger age groups than Krista started screaming. The Peacekeepers unholstered their batons and strode into the crowd as people started to panic. 

 

As the youngest was grabbed, she screamed, “NO, PLEASE! PLEASE DON’T! SHE’S MY SISTER!”

 

Krista felt light-headed. She swayed as the people around her shouted and screamed. Everything felt so far away, and in the midst of everything, she found herself opening her mouth.

 

“I volunteer.”

 

The chaos slowed to a stop as the people around took notice. Krista was left wondering what exactly came over her when the woman on the stage excitedly shouted into her microphone. “Oh, we have a volunteer! Well, don’t be shy then, come on up here.” 

 

The crowd around her started to part as she slowly made her way to the stage. Against her will, a burst of excitement went through Krista. Maybe she could help her District. Even if she died, Krista would be the one who volunteered, and maybe she could spread hope. She’d die for something. 

 

The walk felt so much longer than it actually was, all her fellow classmates staring as she climbed the stairs. As soon as she got to the top step, the woman at the microphone gently grabbed her arm and lead her to the spot in the middle of the stage. Here, she stood with Armin who stared, his eyes red and puffy. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

 

Krista took a shaky breath, and leaned forward into the microphone, “Krista Renz.” 

 

“Well, District 3 has its first volunteer tribute, how exciting!” The woman spread her arms in a gesture, “There you have it. The tributes for this year’s Hunger Games are Armin Arlet and Krista Renz.”

“May the odds be ever in your favor.”


	2. Meeting the Mentors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, are Hitch and Jean a strange duo? Probably. To be honest, when I was pairing up boys and girls, I wasn't too sure who to put with Jean. Then I thought of Hitch because I actually really really like her character (even if she wasn't around for much.) 
> 
> So anyway, here you go have another chapter. 
> 
> I'll try to write these as fast as I can, but with school and stuff I'll be a little slower than I want to. Enjoy nonetheless!

“You have three minutes.”

The Peacekeeper moved to the side to allow Jean’s family to pass. Immediately, Jean’s brother jumped at him, taking him by surprise. He let out a laugh before going to one knee, holding him as close as he could. His brother cried, burying his face into his shoulder as Jean rubbed his back. More than likely, Jean’s mom talked to her younger son before he saw him, so he understood exactly what his brother was going to go through. Jean closed his eyes, realization hitting him. 

This could be the last time I see them. 

Each year, Jean sat by and watched people he vaguely knew be picked and killed. Over the years he gained a false sense of security, thinking he would be lucky enough to age out without ever being sent to the games. He had only two years left before he would have been free. 

“The boy that will represent District 12 in this year’s Hunger Games…. Jean Kirschstein.”

He was so shocked he couldn’t move. Shock abruptly turned to anger. He shouted and screamed from where he stood; only ending up with him having bruises on the back of his legs. The Peacekeepers dragged him onto the stage where he willed himself to calm down while they announced the female tribute. Some girl called Hitch. She was maybe a year or two younger than he was and looked remarkable unaffected for someone who was probably going to die. I might die too, he thought.

“J-Jean,” his youngest brother cried, “Y-Y-You have to win it! You can’t die out there!” His brother sniffled as the tears streamed down his face, hugging Jean even tighter. Jean detached himself from his brother, looking him in the eye.

“I will. I’ll win it for you. I’ll win it for mom, and I’ll win it for dad,” his voice cracked as he willed himself not to cry. “Watch me out there. I’ll kick so much ass, even dad will be proud of me.” He pulled his brother in for another hug, glancing up as his mother. Her eyes were full of anguish, and she forced herself to look away from the scene before her. Jean let go of his brother to pull his mother into a hug. She sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“Come back the same man I raised you to be, Jean. Promise me that.” He nodded, the tears he tried to repress finally spilling over. For once, Jean was glad his father wasn’t present to mock him. 

“I will, mom….I love you.” 

After his three minutes were up, the Peacekeeper escorted Jean out of the room and to the train where he was to be taken to the Capitol. Hitch was already there, sitting on the couch and eating all the food in sight, feet propped up on the table in front of her, lounging in front of the television. Jean scowled, looking around for hopefully another person, but sadly it was just her and him. 

“Done talking to your family?” she asked with a raised eyebrow, popping a jelly bean into her mouth. 

Subconsciously, Jean felt like he was being mocked. He scowled at her, his stance defensive “Look, we don’t have to do this.”

Hitch tilted her head, “Do what exactly?” 

“The whole ‘pretend we’re friends’ thing. Just because we’re from the same District doesn’t mean we have to be on each other’s side. We have to end up killing each other anyway.” Hitch just didn’t seem like someone who would make a good ally. He would always be afraid of her stabbing him in the back at every crossroad. Frankly, she just didn’t seem like someone he could trust. 

“Hmmmm, you say that, but you’ll definitely need friends. And just a tip, maybe you should be nicer to people. No one will be on your side with that attitude.” Hitch grinned, turning her attention back to the television. When Jean focused on it, he realized that it was already a recap of everyone who has been picked already. 

Against his better judgment, he threw himself on the couch next to her. “Anyone interesting?” He asked, figuring it was best to know who he was going to go up against instead of sitting in awkward silence. 

“Actually, this year may be the most interesting one yet.” She paused, popping another jelly bean into her mouth. “District 1 has some strange characters. Career tributes, of course, but the girl has an amazing lack of character. Plus she’s kinda short. The guy is huge; probably want to stay away from him.”

“District 3 has a bunch of wimps, 10 bucks says they die in the bloodbath, but the weird part is that the girl volunteered. Not for any real reason either; just said that the other girl had a lot more to lose than her.” When Jean blanched, Hitch grinned again, “She’s not the only one who volunteered. Another girl from District 8 did too. Apparently her adopted brother was picked before, and she said something about wanting to protect him. Sounds a little incest-y to me, but hey, does it really count if they’re not blood-related?” Hitch paused as if waiting for Jean to laugh. When he didn’t, she frowned and continued. 

“The boy from District 5 seems to be a real sweetheart, but whether or not that’s just for the cameras, I don’t know. He looks a little similar to the girl from District 7. Might just be the freckles,” she shrugged, continuing on. “Speaking of District 7, the guy is huge, which is funny because that’s the lumber district. The fucking guy is literally a tree.” Hitch snorted, laughing at her own joke. When Jean did nothing but frown, she punched him in the shoulder, “C’mon, lighten up.” 

He sighed, “Was there anyone else I should be aware of?”

“Just the weirdoes from District 10. They’re childhood friends apparently, which should be interesting. They seem harmless, but also seem like the first ones that would resort to cannibalism. The girl kept moaning about food during the interviews.’” Hitch rolled her eyes.

“Wow, you’re really interested in all this.”

She adopted an almost sinister expression, her eyes gleaming and her mouth spread into a face-splitting grin. He was getting tired of seeing her grin. “It’s good to see who we’re up against.” 

Before Jean could respond, the sound of the train’s sliding glass door interrupted his thoughts and a man with piercing blue eyes, a chiseled jaw and swept back blonde hair entered. He looked at the two tributes sitting comfortably on the couch with a thoughtful expression, “I apologize for being late. I got held up with a few things.” The man approached both tributes, and stuck out his hand. “I’m your mentor this year. My name is Erwin Smith. You can just call me Erwin if you’d prefer.” 

Erwin’s speaking came off polite, but at the same time also held a tone of authority. It made Jean actually want to listen, which was rare in itself. He remembered that this was someone who had previously won the games, and in turn was someone who was going to have his full attention.  
I’ll do whatever it takes to win, he thought to himself.

Erwin gestured to the table behind him, “We’re to arrive at the Capitol in a day’s time so I think it’d be best if we used our time wisely. Please, sit.” 

As Jean and Hitch took their seats, Erwin made himself a cup of coffee, the two tributes sitting in silence while they waited. When Erwin returned, he sat across from the two of them with a steaming coffee cup in his hand. He sat it down, and wasting no time, got directly to the point. “What skills do you have?”

“I’m pretty good with a knife,” Hitch stated very plainly, the slightest hint of a smile on her face. 

Jean glanced at Hitch, then back to Erwin. “Uh, I’m pretty resourceful I guess? I don’t know.” 

Erwin nodded. “Resourceful is good. Being able to adapt is very important in the games. Do either of you have any strategies?”

Without missing a beat, Jean blurted, “Wait for everyone else to die first then swoop in for the final kill.” He would have to depend on the others ripping each other apart for his plan to work, but it would be far less work then hunting down each and every single opponent. Let everyone else do the work for him while he tried to stay safe; that was the plan.

For a moment, Erwin was silent. Then he rose from the table and approached the train’s window where he adopted a tactful expression, clasping his hands behind his back. His stance reminded Jean of a Peacekeeper but far less threatening and equally intimidating. “The key to victory is alliances. In the game, there will always be someone who is far better than you at the skills you yourself possess, as well as bring forth new skills you may not even have. My advice to you is to take advantage of that. However, do not let your guard down. Be observant – as well as cautious.”

He turned to look at his tributes, his face now neutral. “We will discuss several strategies on the way, but the problem with the games is the unknown factors. The arena is always changing and the competitors are always changing. However, my years as a mentor have taught me many things. If you have the patience to listen, I will be sure to share.”

Jean nodded, “I promised my family I would win, so every little bit counts.”

For the first time since he walked in, Erwin smiled.

“That’s what I like to hear.”  
~~~~  
“No, no, no, no, no.”

“Ere--” 

“No! Tell this guy he can fuck off! I don’t need to listen to him, or any other assholes in these piece-of-shit games!” 

Mikasa sighed, reluctantly allowing Eren to continue his temper tantrum. Ever since the two of them stepped on the train, Eren had been none too happy about the day’s events. He was upset that Mikasa had volunteered herself, though at the same time, he also expected it. Coming aboard the train had only fueled the fire. Their mentor had met the two of them, and Eren immediately clashed with him; however, Eren tended to clash with everybody. 

He introduced himself as Levi Rivaille, his cold demeanor making it clear he wanted no part in being friends with either of them. He was half a head shorter than Eren, who was considered short for even his age, and had a black undercut, which Mikasa thought looked a little strange on him. His way of dress was pristine, and every part about him was well put together and neat; not a button out of place. She had heard of his win previously from adults when they thought she wasn’t listening. It was over 20 years ago; one of the most impressive wins to date, putting his age around the mid-30s, though his baby-face made him look about as old as Eren and Mikasa’s. Only the dark circles under his eyes gave any clue to his age. 

“Is he done throwing a fit, or can we get to business?” Levi sat at the couch, his legs crossed, and a cup of tea in his hands. Instead of holding it by the handle, he held it from the top so that his fingers never came into contact with the grip. When he spoke, it often came off deadpanned and emotionless, one of the things that immediately grinded Eren’s nerves (Whether Levi had always been like that or if he became like that after the games was unknown to Mikasa. However, she did wonder if there was more to him than meets the eye.) 

At his comment, Eren’s face reddened in anger, and he opened his mouth, intending to shout once again. Instead, Mikasa put her hand over his lips, forcing any comments he had to quiet. “Yes, he is done. Please continue.”

Levi eyed the two of them for a moment then set his tea on the table in front of him. Though his expression did not change, he seemed more serious than he had been since they’d met him. “The key to victory is strength. Rely on yourself as much as possible.” As Levi reached for his cup again, seemingly putting an end to their conversation, Eren wrenched Mikasa’s hand away from his face, seething visibly. 

“THAT’S IT?! THAT’S ALL YOU’RE GIVING US?!” Levi’s only change in expression was a raised eyebrow. 

“That’s all you really need to know.”

Eren abruptly forced himself away from Mikasa, his fists clenching as his anger bubbled over. “Maybe, just maybe, the reason why District 8 hasn’t had a victor in over 20 years is because – YOU ARE A SHITTY MENTOR.” He took a deep breath, “I’m going to sleep. Goodbye.”

“Eren, it’s the middle of the da-“

“GOODBYE.”

The whoosh of the train door signified Eren’s departure to his bedroom, leaving Mikasa alone with her mentor. 

“If he doesn’t learn to use his inside voice, he’ll never survive the games,” Levi commented after Eren left.

“He isn’t usually like this,” she said with a frown, “He had a hard time saying goodbye to his mom. No one wants to be here.” 

Levi was silent as Mikasa spoke. “But you do. You chose to be here,” he pointed out. 

“I have to protect Eren. He doesn’t think before he acts. If I’m not there, he’ll die.” Even as a child, Eren had always been impulsive. He’d shout threats and clench his fists, but in the end, it was Mikasa who would have to save him. Out of the two of them, Mikasa was clearly stronger. Not that Eren was completely hopeless. He had the strongest determination out of anyone she’d ever known. Once he put his mind to something, it was hopeless to try and change it. 

“You do realize only one of you can win,” Levi brought the cup to his lips, sipping at the tea. “What do you intend to do, sacrifice yourself when the time comes?” 

“If that’s what it takes, yes.” It was Eren who needed to win, not her. While his parents were now legally considered her parents, he was their true son. If Eren didn’t win, his mother would never forgive her. Mikasa made a promise she intended to keep.

Levi was silent once again. His eyes went to the window, watching the scenery zip by with no expression. There were a few minutes of silence before he spoke again. “When you get to the Capitol, you’ll be asked to show your skills. Eren will run straight for the weapons, I can feel it. Make him learn basic survival skills first. If you really plan to keep him alive, he’ll have to know how to survive on his own.”

“I will. Thank you.”  
~~~  
“Ohoho, so these are my new tributes!”

“Uh—“

“Awfully tiny, but that okay! Makes all the other competitors underestimate you!” 

“Er—“ 

“You two look alike, are you sure you’re not related? Hahaha that would be quite the story!” 

“N—“

“Well, it was good to meetcha! I have a feeling I’m gonna have some real winners on my team this year! ‘Course I say that every year and every year….. ” Hanji paused, bringing her hand to her chin, glasses glinting in the light before throwing her arms around her two tributes. “No matter! Let’s get to business!” Hanji took an unwilling arm from both Armin and Krista, dragging the two of them behind her as she approached the table. She only let go so the two of them could sit, and after she walked to the far side of the room.  
“Would either of you like something to drink? Coffee, tea, water, alcohol?” She laughed, “Just kidding, that’s not legal.” Hanji waited only a moment for the two to respond to her question. When she only received a mumbled, “No thank you,” she shrugged and made herself a cup of coffee. Both Krista and Armin were sure she didn’t need any more caffeine considering she was already bouncing off the walls, but neither of them was going to say anything.

Krista was certain that she had never in her life met a woman as eccentric as Hanji. Zoe Hanji was her full name. “Just call me Hanji; suits me much better!” She had said to both tributes, and they would have, had gotten the chance to talk. Hanji seemed much more interested in talking over them, perhaps not purposely, but loud nonetheless. Not that Krista had anything to say. Hanji shot through conversation starters before she even got the chance to respond. Armin was equally as quiet, though he was generally quiet anyway. 

When Hanji returned, she set her coffee down, and with a black permanent marker, drew a perfect circle right in the middle of the table. Krista horrified, could only imagine where Hanji’s thought process was heading next. “This is the arena.” Hanji tapped the circle with her index finger, going from the middle to the edge, and tapped again. “This is where you do not want to end up.” When the tributes gave her a confused look, Hanji explained, “A lot of competitors forget that it’s not only other tributes they should worry about, but also the force fields attached to the arena. If you ever get near the edge, the Gamemasters will do whatever it takes to send you back. Gas, acid, fireballs— oh, those are my favorite! You can also use these to your advantage.” 

For the first time, Armin spoke, “Is that how you won?”

“No, I created an electric current using wire and lumber, setting, half the arena on fire.” Hanji drew several smaller circles scattered within the bigger one. “Anyway, back to what I was saying.” She pointed at each of the smaller circles, continuing as if she hadn’t just opened up a lot of questions concerning her victory. “These could be other places the fields could be placed, and each of them could do something different. In short, be wary of the arena.” 

Hanji stood up straight, stretching her limbs out. She grinned again, her glasses glinting against the light, a hand resting on her chin, “The key to victory is intelligence. You must outsmart your opponents. Many of the other tributes will think your weak, but physical strength isn’t needed to win the games. I’ll teach you a few tricks, but you’ll have to know the fundamentals already.” She looked at Armin then to Krista, “Do either of you have any knowledge when it comes to electrical wiring, natural science or the building and creation of artificial beings?” 

While Krista was silent, Armin raised his hand. 

“Oh, good! What are you knowledgeable in, Armin?” 

He blinked, “Uh, well I’ve read a lot of books about the subject. I know a few things here or there about different types of science. I’ve also read a lot about traps, if that’ll be of any use.”

“You already know more than all the other Districts! Good job! We’ll have to discuss things later; I’ll teach you a few tricks I’ve learned over the years.” Hanji’s then looked at Krista. “What about you?”

Krista stiffened, “N-No. Not when it comes to science. I’ll do whatever it takes to learn though!”

Hanji rubbed her chin thoughtfully, “You’re adorable.” She hummed, thinking to herself. “That could be your strength. Sponsors will be fighting for you. However, I’ll teach you what I can.” 

Krista and Armin glanced at each other, then to Hanji. 

“Right now I’m sure you’re exhausted! I’ll talk to you at a later hour. You’ll need a nap to process what I teach you later tonight. Goodnight for now.”


	3. Survival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of character interaction in this chapter woooo. Sorry this fic is moving slow, but I don't want to rush things. 
> 
> If you have any questions you can message my tumblr dontmakemechokeaginge.tumblr.com/
> 
> Hopefully I'll be updating more frequently now that I'm on break

Once all the tributes were loaded off the train and given their rooms, they headed to the survival stations, where they would not only learn skills, but also meet the other tributes for the first time. While Krista knew this, she was still nervous, unsure exactly what she was walking into. It wasn’t until she stepped into the room where twenty-three other tributes stood, that it started to sink in. The only way to achieve victory was to kill at least one of them -- if not even more.

As she looked around the room, she realized that her chances were low. She was the shortest, the skinniest, and clearly lacked the skills the others had. Before they had even officially started, some tributes decided to show off. One in particular was effortlessly tossing large spears at targets halfway across the room, his muscles, which were probably as big as her head, bulging as he did so. His partner looked on with a bored expression, her blonde hair falling in front of her face. When she got to the hotel the night before, Krista did as much research as she could on her opponents, leading her to conclude that these particular tributes were Annie and Reiner, the career tributes from District 1.

In terms of size, Krista most matched Annie, who was just a few inches taller than her, though Annie was clearly built a lot stronger. Her nose was prominent, though not necessarily in a bad way. It was just one of the traits that separated her from the rest of the tributes. Even without truly knowing Annie, Krista felt intimidated by her presence. Every time Krista looked at her, a shiver ran down her spine, even if she wasn’t doing anything. She just seemed…..dangerous. Reiner was in the same boat, though he seemed to have a much more chipper personality. Each time he hit a target dead-center; he’d grin and cast a glance at Annie who, of course, wasn’t interested.

The other tribute showing off repeatedly swung an axe at a dummy, chips of it coming off as she did so. She was built much differently than the others. She was taller than even some of the boys, all long legs and lean muscle, her brown hair pulled back into a short ponytail. She seemed to be enjoying herself, as if she was imagining a person she hated being chopped to tiny little pieces. She glanced back at Krista, and for the first time, Krista saw the freckles dotted across her face. When she caught Krista looking, she grinned, forcing Krista to look away. Ymir from District 7, the lumber district. Not much was known about her, just that she lacked a last name and had a crude personality.

The rest of the tributes sat off to the side with the people from their District. Most seemed nervous, anxiously fidgeting with their hands as they waited. Some stared at the tributes showing off with wide, frightened eyes. When the teacher walked in, she glanced at all the tributes sitting and those already using the weapons with a frown.

She went over the rules, suggesting that each person go to every station. “Killing people is important, but so is learning how to use the environment to survive,” she had said. Those from the Capitol districts glanced at each other at that, as if it were impossible, and a boy with short brown hair rolled his eyes, leaning over to the oriental girl beside him to whisper something. The girl seemed very unimpressed. After that, the tributes were mostly left to their own devices.

Krista’s strategy was to avoid the weapon stations at all costs. It would only make her a target after the others discovered her lack of finesses when it came to large, sharp objects – as if she wasn’t already. Instead, she first went to the botany station, since she knew little to nothing about plants. Perhaps there could be a fluke where the last person she went against accidentally ate some poisoned berries, forcing Krista to win by default. It was wishful thinking, sure, but it was the only thing that could bring her confidence up

 

When she finished, she turned around to leave, running straight into someone who had been standing in line behind her, her head bouncing off their chest.

“Watch where you’re going,” a husky, feminine voice said.

As Krista looked up, she realized it was Ymir again. However instead of sounding rude, Ymir sounded amused. The blonde stared, unsure exactly how to respond, especially with Ymir looming over her.

Ymir raised an eyebrow with a smirk, “Cat got your tongue?”

Krista’s cheeks reddened and she looked away again. “No,” she grumbled, a little more forceful than necessary.

Ymir’s smirk widened, “Well, can you move? I want to learn about the wonders of plants,” She said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Clearly, she didn’t really care what she was really learning about.

Krista’s lips thinned as she forced herself to keep from making an equally sarcastic remark back, figuring it was in her best interest to keep it to herself. Usually, she was a patient person, but the way Ymir was looking at her irritated her to no extent. Krista huffed, about to turn away when Ymir spoke again.

“Heeeey wait a second, weren’t you the one that volunteered?” At first, Krista thought Ymir was mocking her, but she actually looked sincere. Her smirk was gone for the first time since she’d set eyes on her, and there was a curious look in her eyes.

Krista was hesitant. “….Yes.” She mumbled.

Immediately, Ymir narrowed her eyes, making an annoying humming sound as she did so. Practically saying ‘I knew it’ without actually saying it. She brought a hand up to her chin, looking Krista up and down as if she was studying her. Krista shifted uncomfortably, feeling like Ymir was looking right through her; like all her secrets were floating in the air between them. “Why?”

The question caught Krista off guard. To be honest, she didn’t really have an answer to that question. It just felt like something she should have done, as opposed to something she did with reason. However, beneath the surface, there was a part of her bubbling that she chose to ignore. “I don’t know. That girl that was reaped had more to lose than I did.”

Ymir scoffed, “Oh, I’m sure.” Krista bristled at the sarcasm in her voice. This girl was really getting on her nerves. “That’s what you told the interviewers, isn’t it? What’s the real story?”

In response, Krista just clenched her teeth and ignored her. She was about to walk away when she heard a loud crash followed by a lot angry shouting. Krista’s eyebrows furrowed together, looking for the cause of the disruption when she spotted two boys, the same one who rolled his eyes earlier and a taller boy with a sandy blonde undercut, yelling. Krista realized for the first time the two boys were Eren Jaeger and Jean Kirschstein. Concern shot through her when she realized what was going on.

Jean gripped the collar of Eren’s shirt, looking like he was going to sock him in the face, shouting all the while. Eren was no better. He squirmed in Jean’s grip, leaning forward to shout directly into his face. Even from across the room, Krista could hear every word.

“No, fuck you! If you think I’m going to give up that easy, then I think you need to sit your ass down. You have no chance in winning these games. I’ll kill all of you fuckers!”

If it was possible for Jean to look any angrier, he managed to achieve it. His face scrunched up an almost impossible amount, gnashing his teeth together as he spoke. “Piss off, squirt! We all know you’ll be the first one dead with that mouth!”

As Krista looked on horrified, she heard Ymir chuckle next to her. With a frown, Krista looked at her, “Aren’t you going to do anything about that?”

Ymir outright laughed at that, “What, are you kidding? This is the most entertainment I’ve seen in weeks!”

Krista frowned, knowing the situation could escalate. She grumbled, “Fine, I’ll do it myself.” At Ymir’s raised eyebrows she stormed into the battlefield, preparing herself for the worst. Just as she was about to separate them, they shouted again, this time Jean landing a punch right in the middle of Eren’s face, Eren falling to the ground in surprise. She blanched, throwing herself between them before it could get any worse. “Stop!” she shouted, her arms raised in defense, hoping they would listen to her. Instead, they just started talking around her after just a glance in her direction.

“Is that all you got?!” It was Eren’s turn to shout, Mikasa now hovering anxiously by his side. He tried to push Krista out of the way in an attempt to get closer to Jean. “My grandma can hit better than that and she’s dead!” He put one hand on her shoulder, attempting to force her out of the way. Before he could get any closer, he was suddenly lifted up in the air by the back of his shirt, his feet dangling a few inches off the ground, his eyes widening.

“Now, now no fighting, children. There’ll be enough of that later,” Ymir’s mock ‘mother’ voice threw Krista off, her expression extremely confused. “Let’s all just enjoy each other’s company for now before they hand us sharp tools to rip each other apart with.” She punctuated her last statement with a fake smile, dropping Eren to the ground when he was unresponsive. Once Eren regained his composure, he pointed to Jean.

“You’ll regret that, asshole,” he spat between clenched teeth, spinning on his heel to stomp away.

~~~

“Was that really necessary?”

Eren fumed, not even noticing Mikasa approaching him from behind as he was too absorbed in his thoughts. He couldn’t help himself. He always had a hard time controlling his anger, even as a child. Being away from home just seemed to make things worse “Yes! He insulted me!”

Though Mikasa was silent, he could tell that she wasn’t happy with him; not that he could blame her. It wasn’t until his head started to clear, that he realized he just blew any and all chances of gaining alliances. Not that it wouldn’t have been difficult anyway. No way was Eren going to trust anyone who had to kill him to win. The only alliance he needed was Mikasa. The rest of them could go to hell for all he cared, especially Jean!

Mikasa sighed, “Go to another station. You’re going to need the extra help. I’ll be at the camouflage station if you need me.”

“Yes, mother,” he droned, earning him a slap to the head. Before he could shout, she was already gone.

Once she left, he threw himself onto the ground, holding his head in his hands. She was right. He needed to develop his own skills instead of relying on her. Determination flared through Eren. He had to win. If not for himself, for his mother! For the first time since he had been reaped, he smiled, hope filling him.

Eren jumped to his feet, raising a fist above him. If someone saw him, chances are they thought he looked ridiculous, but he didn’t care. He’d watched enough games with his parents to know what it took to win. Whatever he had to do, he was willing to do it.

Eren felt eyes on his back when he walked away, goose bumps spreading across his skin as he suppressed a shiver. He tried to ignore it, and just walked, ending up at the fire-making station. He shrugged, figuring he should learn something useful. He couldn’t win if he didn’t know how to survive.

For a long while, Eren sat, willing a fire to blaze as he spun the stick between his hands. His knees were beginning to ache, and he was becoming frustrated. He grit his teeth, putting all his energy into rubbing the stick as fast as he could when he heard a quiet voice just over his shoulder.

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Eren blinked, turning to see a boy his age, maybe even younger, kneeling next to him, the boy pointing at the stick in his hand. Eren first noticed the boy’s big, blue eyes – eyes that were almost too big for his face. The eyes, coupled with the awkward blonde bowl cut made for an unflattering combination. His face was round, giving him an almost child-like appearance in comparison to many of the other competitors. Eren glanced at his attempted fire. “What am I doing wrong?”

The boy shot him a timid smile before leaning over to pick up a few other items that Eren had ignored; a spindle, a rock, and another stick. Eren watched in awe as he put the tools together to create a friction based device. He used to the spindle and stick to create a bow, wrapping the spindle around the first stick, sawing it back and forth as he did so. Eren’s eyes widened when first a spark appeared, then an actual burst of flame. “Wow, you did it!” He shouted in excitement.

“If you’re going to make a friction-based fire, rubbing sticks alone probably won’t work,” he explained, his eyes lowering towards the ground as he spoke.

Eren leaned forward, closer to the boy. “Aren’t you afraid to give your enemy advice? What if I use it against you?” He whispered.

The boy smiled sadly, “We didn’t choose to be enemies.”

“My name’s Eren,” Eren said, thrusting his hand out to the blonde, “From District 8.”

“Armin,” he responded, taking his hand and shaking it slowly, “District 3.”

Oh, the technology district. That made a lot of sense.

Armin leaned forward again, “I heard what you said earlier – about winning. Do you really have that much confidence in yourself?”

Eren nodded, “I can’t lose. I have to win it for my parents.” Eren tilted his head, “What about you? Do you have anyone waiting at home for you?”

The blonde shook his head. “It’s just my grandfather and I now. My parents died when I was young.” Armin paused, “I doubt I’ll have the strength to win these games, but the best I can do is try.”

For a split second, Eren felt pity for the boy. It was obvious he had little to no self-confidence in himself or his abilities. Even in the small amount of time Eren had known Armin, he seemed to like him. It would be a shame if he was the first one to die.

“At least try. It’ll be no fun if no one fights back,” Eren smiled to let Armin know he was joking. In response, Armin chuckled nervously.

Armin glanced over Eren’s shoulder, his eyes going wide. Eren turned to see what he was looking at when he came face-to-face with Mikasa. She pulled her scarf over her mouth, silently glancing at Armin, evaluating him. She looked back toward Eren, pulling her scarf down so she could talk without it being muffled. “Making friends?” Eren couldn’t tell whether she was happy about that or not. Her tone was flat, making it hard to read.

He shrugged, looking at Armin, wondering if it was really too soon to call him a friend. Out of all the competitors, the blonde seemed the most innocent, maybe even trusting. Perhaps Eren would lift the no alliance rule, but not for now. The games hadn’t even started yet.

~~~  
The arrow struck the target after a soft _whoosh_ as it flew through the air, hitting just left of dead-center along with a small cluster of other arrows scattered about the target. The girl took another arrow from the huge supply of ammo the tributes had been provided with, raising it to her cheek after drawing the bow. She let out the breath she had been holding slowly, allowing the bow to leave her fingers –

“So which one do you think will die first?”

The arrow hit the target, albeit a little lower than Sasha liked. She shrugged, turning to her friend with a grim smile. “Don’t know. I’m afraid saying something like that might jinx me.”

Connie scoffed, crossing his arms over his small chest. “Pfft, whatever. I can’t believe you would fall for that stuff. My bet is on that loud kid from District 12. I mean, he’s already probably made a ton of enemies already.” Connie glanced at the target Sasha had been shooting at with a frown, “Your shots are all over the place. What’s the matter?”  
“Nervous,” Sasha responded. It was still hard to believe she got reaped. Her heart had been wildly beating in her chest since that very moment, making it hard to focus on anything. Thankfully she got reaped alongside someone she grew up with. It made the process a little easier, but the dreadful knowledge that only one of them could win stirred a pot full of hesitation and fear inside her gut.

Connie was silent as he watched her. He had known her long enough to know when she doubted herself, or when she was upset. First, he rubbed his shaved head with a sigh before wrapping one arm around her shoulder, “Don’t be nervous. You got this. We’ll be the unstoppable team.” Connie poked her cheek, forcing her to laugh, “Everyone’ll be upset when they realize just who they’re up against!”

At his reassurance, she looked at the target again, and grabbed another arrow. Focus, she told herself, drawing the bow up to her cheek. She allowed the arrow to rest on her hand while she breathed, trying to get a handle on her emotions. In and out. Connie was beside her, whispering words of encouragement like “You got this.” Or “Don’t be afraid to show them who’s boss.” Sasha used his words as fuel, focusing on nothing else. She let the arrow go, watching it for a split second as it flew. It hit the target with a soft _whomp_.

Dead center.

Connie cheered, “See, I told you!”

Sasha grinned, her confidence returning to her. Back in her home district, she was one of the best archers around. When her boredom was at an all-time high, or when she finished taking care of the cattle, she would paint targets on trees, borrowing her father’s bow without his knowledge to shoot arrow after arrow until she got better. Her father had been unhappy when he found out she had taken his bow without his consent, but after he watched her shoot, he couldn’t help the pride that swelled.

“That’s my girl,” her father told her after he taught her some of his own techniques. Sasha learned quickly enough, practically a natural.

But now she had to use her archery skill to kill other people.

It left a bad taste in her mouth, The Hunger Games, anyway. While her family sat around the television rooting for their favorite competitor, Sasha had to look away. Each time a tribute was stabbed or strangled, she had to fight the bile that rose in her throat. It sickened her. So many people lost brothers, sisters, sons, daughters, and their deaths were exploited; like they weren’t actually people.

The rumbling of her stomach distracted her thoughts. Connie glanced at her stomach with disbelief, “You are a bottomless pit! Where does someone as skinny as you even put the food?” When she just smiled sheepishly, he shook his head, “C’mon, let’s go see if we can find something to eat.”

~~~  
Eren leaned over the balcony of his penthouse. Since he was from District 12, he got the top floor, consequently giving him the best view of the Capitol, forcing him to stare down at the city he despised so much. People from the Capitol were ignorant, going about their lives as if nothing was going on. They threw on their wigs and dyed the hair on their poodles to match. Did they even know what it was like to struggle? Or did they have everything handed to them? Here he was, going to fight in a battle to the death for their entertainment, and they gorged themselves on feasts and banquets. Eren shook his head, his shoulders slumping as he sighed.

“Hey,” a voice behind him said.

Eren looked over at Mikasa, her red scarf wrapped around her mouth, the wind rustling her black hair which had been cut short after Eren suggested so. “Hey,” he answered back. Mikasa leaned over the balcony next to him, a comfortable silence filling the air. He looked back towards the city, willing himself to appreciate the scenery. The sight was pretty once the thought of the people that lived in the city was erased. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mikasa shift, promptly resulting on her head resting on his shoulder. Eren didn’t acknowledge it much, just laughed a little.

“You should go to sleep,” Mikasa said from behind her scarf,” The interviews are tomorrow and you get grumpy when you’re tired,” Mikasa continued, earning a grumble from Eren.

“Good idea,” he sighed, Mikasa standing straight up. She stayed behind as Eren left, opening the glass door that led to their suite. “Mikasa?”

“Hmmm?”

“You should get some sleep too.”


	4. The Interviews

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before the start of the games is nerve-wracking for everyone. First the competitors are scored on their abilities before being asked to participate in the interview that everyone around the world will be watching. Either way, we learn a lot about the tributes participating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not too sure about this chapter, but I really wanted to get it out there so I can write the actual games (which will start next) I don't know about you guys but I'm really excited.
> 
> So endure this chapter for now because I will be writing the next as soon as I can, and that will be where the real fun will begin.

“—And as always, the tributes will be rated on a scale of one to twelve. One being the worst and twelve being the best!” 

Jean shifted in his seat, his eyes glued to the television. Over the last few days he and the other tributes had been scored on their abilities, the Gamemasters and sponsors alike scrutinizing every detail. Sponsors were important; Erwin had explained to him, “They could really help you out if you’re in trouble.” In some games, sponsors were the difference between life and death, and Jean couldn’t afford to take the chance. 

Sadly, because he was from District 12, he would be one of last people to be announced.

The announcer grinned, “Without further ado, let’s get started.” Just to the right of him, a very large, disgruntled looking man’s face showed up, blinking every few seconds. “Reiner Braun from District 1,” he paused, “A ten.”

Shit.

The face next to the announcer changed, this time to a woman with blonde hair and a large nose, her emotionless eyes seemingly staring right through Jean. “Next we have Annie Leonhardt, also from District 1,” The announcer’s eyes rose when he looked at the card in from of him, “An eleven, very impressive!” 

Double shit. 

Hitch whistled beside him, “Damn, I thought she looked scary, but an eleven? It’ll be hard to top that.”

“Yeah,” Jean agreed, “I have a bad feeling about her.”

“Good, that means you’re smart.”

“—And onto Armin Arlert from District 3,” the announcer continued after going over the tributes from District 2, “a seven.” The blinking face next to him looked determined. When the face faded out and switched, what appeared was an almost identical looking female, looking equally determined. “Krista Renz, District 3….also a seven.” 

 

“Ouch,” Hitch grinned, “Pretty low scores. My bet still stands for those two. They look pretty weak.” 

Jean rolled his eyes, “Underestimating people will get you killed.” 

“Whatever.” 

“—Marco Bodt from District 5,” the face that appeared next to the announcer had a nervous smile; the freckles on his face making him look very youthful. Jean couldn’t help but think he was pretty cute. “An eight.” 

Just then, the sliding doors behind the two of them opened before Jean could form a thought about the boy with the prominent widow’s peak. Erwin entered, reading something off the device he held in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. When he lifted his eyes to spot his tributes, his lips curved upwards. “Ah, keeping an eye out on the other competitors I see. Smart.” Erwin sat down on the couch next to Jean, his eyes on the television. 

Jean nodded, “The scores are kind of all over the place.” 

“That’s to be expected. Each of them have different skills,” Erwin said. 

“—From District 7, Bertholdt Fubar,” the announcer continued, glancing at the card in front of him, the face next to him reveling a man with a slightly darker complexion than the other tributes, his face seeming to gleam under the light. “An eight.” 

“Ymir from District 7,” Jean blinked in recognition as the blinking face revealed a girl with tan skin and sly eyes. The same one that got between him and Eren. “A nine.” 

“Hmmm, impressive,” Erwin commented.

“Eren Jaeger, District 8,” Jean clenched his teeth as Eren’s face appeared, his eyebrows furrowed, which only annoyed him. Everything about him annoyed Jean. “A nine.”

Hitched laughed, “Better hope you get a higher score than him,” her eyes glinted mischievously, “Don’t want him to beat you.” 

Jean scoffed, “Him?! Ha!” 

“Mikasa Ackerman from District 8,” when the announcer glanced at his cards he did a double take, then a triple take. “A…..Twelve! Wow, it’s been a long time since anyone’s gotten a perfect score! Congratulations!” Jean’s mouth dropped as he looked at Mikasa’s face, her expression unchanging. She was pretty, or at least he thought so, and he thought she seemed strong, but in no way did he expect her to get a perfect score. 

It was silent in the room except for the announcers continued prattle about the tributes from District 9. “It’s been over 20 years since anyone’s gotten a perfect score,” Erwin finally said, “And he went on to win the Hunger Games without much of a hassle.” 

“Who was the last one?” Hitch asked, curious. 

“Levi Rivaille, from the same district even. He won ten or so years after I won, and terrified the competition,” Erwin sighed, resting his head on the back of the couch, “I remember being in awe when I watched the games he fought in. He was completely unmerciful, and didn’t take any allies, so if I have any advice on how to deal with her, fight alongside her for as long as you can.” 

Hitch snorted, “Fat chance. Especially after the scene Jean caused with her foster-adopted-whatever brother.”

Jean clenched his teeth, “Look, he was asking for it, alright?” Still, he knew she was right. He was just going to have to hope for some accident. He brought his attention back to the television, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

“—From District 10, Connie Springer,” even from the picture, Jean could tell the bald-headed boy was stiff. His lips were pressed together as if he was taking an awkward school photo. Along with blinking, the boy nervously swallowed every few minutes. “A seven.” 

“From District 10, Sasha Blouse,” the girl’s eyes were wide, and looked equally as nervous as the boy preceding her. The announcer glanced at his cards, “An eight.” 

As the announcer babbled about tributes from District 11, both of which received sixes, Jean found himself nervous at the thought of his own score. He sat forward when the man, switched cards, and ended up staring at an exact replica of himself. However, instead of nervousness, his face exhibited cockiness, his lips turned upwards in a smirk. “Jean Kirschstein, District 12,” Jean leaned forward in anticipation.

“An eight.” 

Jean flew to his feet, and threw his arms above his head, Hitch bursting into a fit of laughter. “WHAT?! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” He shouted. 

“Looks like… the brat… showed you up,” she managed to say in between fits of laughter. 

Jean fumed, “I’m going to my room. See you later.” 

“Don’t you want to see my score?” 

“No,” Jean said over his shoulder as he walked away, causing Hitch to pout. 

“The interviews are tonight! Don’t forget!” Erwin called after him. 

~~~

Armin anxiously pulled at his tie. Not often did he have to dress up, at least, not like this. Generally, in his home district, dressing up meant the cleanest pair of clothes he owned, not a fancy suit. Still, his designer had been adamant about the design, and Armin found himself staring at Hanji with pleading eyes when they had first cut his hair and plucked at his eyebrows until his appearance was perfect. Of course, Krista had suffered the same treatment. 

The difference between him and Krista though was that people tended to naturally like Krista. To other people, Armin wasn’t someone to even glance at. He was invisible to everything but taunts; the socially awkward boy bullies had fun with. This only led to a severe lack of self-confidence and anxiety that he suffered through his entire life. Acquaintances didn’t come easy, friends even more so. The only real person who cared about Armin was his grandfather, and with his deteriorating health, even he may not have been around for much longer.

The very moment he was reaped, he knew he would die. 

Statistically speaking, the more he got to know his opponents, the more his hours were numbered. The interviews went off without a hitch; the tributes before him exhibiting such confidence that Armin found himself intimidated even from the sidelines. When it was his turn to have the spotlight on him, he shook and trembled. The interviewer handled him well. As if he knew that Armin was sure to crack if too much pressure was applied – like an egg or a shard of glass, making the questions easy to answer. In the end, Armin ended up mumbling his responses anyway. 

When it was over, his heart pounded in his chest. Hanji hovered alongside anxiously, handing him a bottle of water when she noticed his pallor. She patted his back when he gave her a shy smile, turning his attention to the television, watching Krista’s interview. 

Krista handled her interview much better. Even when she was serious, the audience laughed like she was the most adorable thing they’d ever seen. Unintentionally, she was playing the Capitol like a fiddle; the best of notes coming together to create a song of heart. The only time Armin could spot her visible discomfort was when she was asked the same question they’d all been asked. 

“You’re a pretty girl; do you have a boy waiting for you at home?” The interviewer grinned like a Cheshire cat, and Krista shifted, her lips thinning in a way that even Armin could tell she was uncomfortable. Part of him wondered what it was about the question that made her so uneasy. Even when they were children, Armin could never recall Krista having a boyfriend, despite the numerous amounts of suitors vying for her attention. Why was that? He was never close enough to her to find out, but if he was, would she still tell him? 

“No,” she answered in such a way that the interviewer was forced to drop it. Afterwards, the questions were clearly a lot easier to answer after the interviewer chose not to continue badgering her for a response. 

When it was over, Krista received a standing ovation, the first of the night. Armin felt a tinge of jealousy as she stepped of the stage, her beautiful dress trailing behind her. She stood next to him, sighing as the two of them watched the rest of the interviews. 

Ymir went after Marco and Bertholdt won the crowds over with their chipper personalities; Marco especially. It was a big change to go from those two to her, her personality much blunter than those that went before her. Despite this, she too somehow managed to win the audience over. 

“So, Ymir, who are you winning these games for? Are you confident that’ll you will win?” 

Ymir responded almost immediately, “Oh, I’m definitely winning the games for my family. I’m not sure that they will be able to survive if I die. They’ll starve to death, and my poor little grandma might break her hip if I’m not around. My family needs me.” 

“That’s so sad! A poor girl like you taking care of her family,” the interviewer shook his head with a painful expression. Whether he was genuine or just acting was a mystery to Armin. “But the world needs to know,” he leaned in, “Do you have a boy waiting for you at home.”

“I’m not interested in guys,” Ymir stated as easily as if she was discussing her favorite color, “Girls are more my type.” Out of the corner of his eye, Armin noticed Krista stiffening. 

For once the interviewer was speechless. He sputtered while Ymir grinned, the audience gasping at her confession. When the interviewer finally regained his composure, he pulled at his suit and shifted in his seat “O-Oh, well I’m sure you’ll be a role model to millions of kids watching.” As Ymir exited the stage, Eren took her place.

“I hate her,” Krista said after a few minutes of silence.

Armin spun towards Krista, surprised to hear her say such a thing. He had never known her to hate anything. “Huh? Why?”

“She’s crude, impolite and a jerk.” She frowned, “Okay, maybe I don’t hate her, but I firmly dislike her.” 

He blinked at her sudden confession, unsure what to say to that. Thankfully he didn’t have to because he was interrupted by Eren shouting. 

“I will win! I’m determined!”

The interviewer laughed, “You’re a very eccentric fella! Definitely don’t lack the confidence.” He gestured to the audience, “I’m sure a lot of people out there will be rooting for you.” He shook Eren’s hand, marking the end of his interview. 

Mikasa was next, and of course was met with a barrage of questions. Most focusing on her perfect score, the others, questions of her bravery when she volunteered. Mikasa was stoic, answering most of the questions as seriously as she could. It was clear that Mikasa meant business. 

Mikasa and Eren were an interesting pair, Armin thought. The two were complete opposites; two sides of the same coin. Many people were interested in whether or not Mikasa was actually willing to sacrifice herself for Eren’s sake. She could say so now, but the games were known for changing people.

The next interviews went quickly; one right after the other, and before Armin knew it, he found himself laying in the hotel bed, dreading the next day. The Hunger Games were going to start tomorrow. The clock was officially ticking.


	5. The Games: Part 1

Jean’s heart thundered in his chest as his designer fitted him for boots. So far, it was just his designer and himself, the room abnormally quiet compared to the excitement he had suffered through since he’d come to the Capitol. The quiet made Jean uneasy, especially without Erwin nearby. The mentor had become a type of crutch Jean held onto when the pressure of the games became too much; which was often.  He was a comforting presence for Jean, consciously giving him hope. If Erwin survived, maybe Jean could too?

After the designer finished lacing up his boots, he pointed to the open glass tube in the middle of the room. Jean took a shaky breath, stepping onto the platform with the sound of his heartbeat pounding in his ears. His body trembled when the tube closed and he heard a mechanical voice come over the speaker.

_Ten._

_Nine._

_Eight._

Jean’s eyes shot up when he heard the door across the room open, the familiar face of his mentor entering the room. As if to get closer, he pressed his hands against the cold of the glass, frantic “Erwin! What do I do?”

Erwin’s mouth turned upwards into a half-smile. “What I taught you, Jean.” The answer, though simple, was strangely comforting.

_Four._ The platform began to raise, Jean’s hand sliding against the glass until he was forced to retract them.

_Three._ The arena came into sight, the sun almost blinding him

_Two._  The platform stopped suddenly causing Jean to stumble.

_One._  Jean squinted, taking in his surroundings. The first thing he noticed was the frigid temperature accompanied with the several inches of snow that covered the ground around him. _Great_ , he thought sarcastically. If surviving wasn’t already hard, freezing temperatures and possible frostbite were going to make things impossible.

 Next, Jean surveyed his opponents. Twenty-four other tributes stood on their platforms, forming a circle around the cornucopia, each of them approximately 15 meters away from the center. Above the cornucopia, a digital clock had begun to count down from 20 as soon as all tributes were in their starting positions. Jean stared at it, a knot beginning to form in his stomach. He needed to form a plan before starting.  

The smart decision would be to run in the opposite direction, away from the bloodbath that was sure to happen. However, the need for supplies was evident, especially in a winter-like arena.  It wasn’t _as_ cold as some of the winters Jean had experienced, but the temperature was sure to drop overnight, and with no shelter, he was done for. He eyed the bulky backpacks that sat at the cornucopia. If he could grab one and run, maybe he had a chance. Jean’s thoughts were interrupted by the mechanical voice.

_5._

Shit. Run or go?

_4._

Run or go?

_3._

_Run or go?_

_2._

_Run?_

_1._

Go.

Jean closed his eyes and took off at a full speed sprint, opening his eyes a few moments later. Luckily, the snow was compacted well enough that running wasn’t too difficult, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy focusing on his prize. Just one backpack, that’s all he wanted.

The scene ahead of him was already turning into a bloodbath. Apparently, certain people were much faster than he was, and had already managed to acquire weapons. Jean was forced to watch as a kid from District 4 reached for a backpack, blood spewing from a limb when someone chose to hack the arm off instead, taking the bag he was reaching for. Jean swallowed at the sound of cannon fire, running past the scene as quickly as his legs allowed. His hands clumsily grabbed for a bag and continued running, not allowing himself to stop for any reason. Jean only glanced back when a shuriken flew by his face, cutting his cheek before lodging in a nearby tree.

He escaped into the forest. The cannon fire behind him sounding like an off-rhythm drumbeat, going off every few seconds, usually accompanied by a shout or a scream. Jean tried to ignore it, running until it felt safe to stop.  His lungs felt ready to burst when he finally slowed, his body doubled over and panting, the cold air seeming to invade his chest.  When he finally caught his breath, he looked around, making sure that he was alone. When Jean saw that he was, he chose to open his backpack. Inside was a canteen, a box of matches, two canned foods, and a sleeping bag wrapped around the other items.  Not too bad, he thought. Definitely items he could use.

Now he just needed to find a place where he could rest.

~~~

_Day 1 -- First 6 Hours_

“First things first – we should probably find shelter,” Mikasa looked at the setting sun with a frown.  The trick to winning the actual Games was going to be beating the environment. She was almost surprised with the setting the Game-masters chose, considering they usually leaned towards summer-type environments because of the less natural deaths. The money came from violence – not hypothermia.

“Yeah,” Eren agreed, “Do you think they’ll have any shacks around?”

“Most likely not, but anything’s possible,” the two of them continued their walk in silence, brainstorming possible solutions. Mikasa was about to open her mouth again when she heard the crunching of snow from farther away and the sound of sticks snapping.

Almost immediately, she drew her sword and pushed Eren behind her.  When Eren tried to protest, she put a finger up to her lips, hushing any sound he was about to make. Mikasa snuck forward, Eren following suit, making sure not to make too much noise as if to alert the intruder.  She pressed herself against the trunk of a tree and peaked around it. There, in the middle of a clearing, she saw the back of a blonde head that seemed to be searching for something.  

Suddenly, she felt Eren insistently poking at her back. Mikasa looked back to see him frantically mouthing words at her and pointing at the blonde. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion until he was finally forced to talk, “That’s Armin,” he whispered. Then, before she could stop him, Eren stood up straight and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hey Armi--!” Mikasa cursed at Eren’s stupidity and pulled him to her, forcing her hand over his mouth.

The blonde jerked his head up and spun around with wide eyes. In his hands, he held sticks and strings which were now scattered across the ground. Mikasa stared, Eren deciding to walk into the open, his hands up in a friendly gesture.  “It’s okay, we’re not going to hurt you,” Eren said, a faint smile on his face.

“ _What are you doing_?” Mikasa hissed.

“Armin’s friendly! “ Eren said over his shoulder, outright smiling now. “Aren’t you, Armin?”

“U-Uh…..I guess.”

Eren lowered his hands and walked over to Armin, helping him pick up the scattered sticks and strings. Armin was stiff, clearly afraid Eren was going to turn on him. “Hey, what are you doing with all this stuff anyway?” Eren asked, Mikasa now cautiously hovering alongside him. “Are you making something?”

Armin shifted and bit his lip. “You could say that….”

After he had picked up everything he could, Eren handed it off to Armin, “You don’t have to be so afraid, you know,” he stood up to his full height after having been crouching down, “We could be friends?” His tone was hopeful, kinder than Mikasa had heard for a long time.  She wondered if he had a strategy, or if his feelings were genuine. More likely the latter. Eren could never conceal his true feelings.

Mikasa was willing to ally herself with Armin. For now. She’d keep her eye on him. If he tried to pull anything, she’d stop him. He was smaller than her and Eren with the personality to match. It was hard to _not_ trust him, or to underestimate him, but these were the games and it could turn anyone against one another.

“We’ll ally ourselves with you for now, Armin,” Mikasa stated, her voice dark and intimidating.  “If you turn on us, you’ll regret it. Do you understand that?”

Armin nodded wildly.

“Good.” Mikasa looked around, “We should probably set up camp soon. The sun is going down.”

“I agree,” Armin said, “I wasn’t able to get any supplies at the cornucopia. I don’t suppose you guys have….” He trailed off; afraid the two of them might take his query the wrong way.

Eren nodded, shrugging his backpack off his shoulder. He and Mikasa had managed to get a weapon and a backpack each; Mikasa armed with a short sword, Eren a mace. Eren opened his bag to show Armin the contents. Armin nodded after he’d looked inside, “We should set up camp.”

~~~ 

_Day 1 – First 8 hours_

Sasha sat in the tree line, invisible to anyone unless they were truly looking.  She had settled herself on the largest branch she could find, her habit of tree climbing as a child finally paying off. It had been several hours since she found a well enough place to stop. The sun was had set about an hour beforehand, leaving Sasha to squint into the dark for a certain idiot, the cold biting at her exposed skin.

She cursed him even now. The plan had been to ignore the cornucopia and meet up as soon as they could.  Connie chose to change the plan at the last second, leaving Sasha by herself. Sasha’s heart sunk when she heard the cannons booming behind her when she ran into the forest. Connie was fast, but he wasn’t that strong, forcing her to conclude the worst. However, she refused to give up hope until she saw his face flashing across the sky; to know for sure that he was gone.

She felt herself dozing off when she heard a tentative bird call. She closed her eyes, nodding off when she heard it again-- closer this time. Her eyebrows furrowed together when she truly listened to it. It sounded like a robin and usually they migrated during the winter –

Wait.

Sasha’s eyes flew open, shifting her body to look towards the forest ground. She brought her hands up to her mouth, mimicking the call the best she could. When she saw the familiar bald head of her friend, she was overjoyed, repeating the call until he found her location. Connie looked up, catching her eye with a smile, his body seemingly smaller than usual because of the two backpacks slung over each shoulder. Sasha took a relieved breath and climbed down to meet her friend. When she was face-to-face with him, he grinned, handing her one of the bags he’d acquired.

“Got ya this,” he said, “Thought you might need it.”

She took it and immediately threw her arms around him, hugging him as tightly as she could. He thrashed against her in surprise, his cheeks reddening when she held his face against her chest. “I was so worried! Connie, don’t ever do that again!” Sasha wretched Connie away from her chest and shook him by his shoulders, “Stick to the plan next time, okay?”

Connie _harrumphed,_ crossing his arms over his chest when she finally let him go. “I knew we would need supplies. What were we going to do when we got out here, flail around in the dark?” Suddenly, a look crossed his face, as if he remembered something. “Oh, yeah,” he set his bag down and reached behind him, pulling a bow and an arrow quiver over his shoulder. “Managed to get you these too,” he said, handing her both.

“What about you? How did you hold all this stuff?” She asked. She was happy to finally have a weapon in her hand. It made her feel protected, but she still wished he had stuck to the plan.

 “I can be a pack mule when I want to be. But I had to move slowly. As for what I got…” He turned, pointing to his hip. “I snagged this baby before anyone could get to it.” At his side, was a scabbard containing a large axe. Connie pulled it free, showing it off before putting it back in its place.

He puffed up in pride when Sasha hugged him again, pecking him on the cheek before she pulled away. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“Anytime, babe.” Connie looked around, “So what’s the plan? Should we make a fire? It’s pretty cold out her--“ He stopped  midsentence, eyes rolling back into his head and blood exploding from his chest as he made a choking sound, specks of the red liquid splattering Sasha’s face.

“Ha!” A masculine voice shouted behind Connie, “Right in the chest!”

Sasha’s pupils constricted when she dared to look at the spear sticking out of her friend’s chest. Connie fell forward, a distant cannon going off before he even had the chance to hit the ground.  She heard snow crunching and when she looked up, she saw two Capitol tributes heading straight for her; the muscled one and the short one from District 1.

Sasha screamed, falling on her backside before scrambling to her feet. Tears leaked out of her eyes as she pumped her legs as fast as they could go. Every couple of steps she would stumble clumsily, her heart racing so hard it felt like she was having a heart attack. “Tch, she’s running,” Sasha heard Reiner grumble.

“She can run all she wants,” Annie said, her voice neutral. “She’ll have to die sometime.”

It didn’t seem like they were chasing her, but she couldn’t risk it. Sasha kept running until it was physically impossible for her to continue, choosing to sit with her back against the trunk of a tree and holding her head between her knees. She put her hands over her mouth to muffle the sobbing, but she couldn’t keep the tears from falling. They felt cold on her cheeks.

It was hard to catch her breath, each intake of air seeming to catch in her throat before it had the chance to make it to her lungs. It took a second for her to realize that she was hyperventilating, something she couldn’t let happen. Sasha willed herself to slow her breathing, her breath still catching for a few minutes after she did so. When she reached for the bow at her shoulder, she realized her hands were trembling. 

She set the bow in her lap, her hands clenching it so hard her knuckles turned white. Her friend was dead. Her _best_ friend was dead.  They hadn’t even been able to talk for more than five minutes before everything went to hell.

Sasha stared at the bow in her lap. She had to play it seriously.

~~~

_Midnight_

Krista started from her sleep when she heard cannons booming from afar. Having been curled up on her side to face the blazing fire, she felt a combination of warmth and cold, leaving her shivering against her will. She sat up, rubbing at her eyes, figuring she must have fallen asleep a few hours before.

Suddenly, the sky lit up, faces flashing across the skyline. Krista’s heart hurt as she watched the faces flash by. It seemed never-ending. Both tributes from District 2 and 4 were gone. The female from District 5. Both from 6 and 9. The baldheaded boy from District 10. And both tributes from District 11. Twelve tributes were already gone and it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours.

Krista felt thankful she didn’t witness the bloodbath. She ran as quickly as she could, stopping only to grab a bag at the beginning. Afterwards, she found a good place to stop and set up camp. She had no shelter, so the cold chilled her bones until she made a fire. So far she hadn’t come across any other tributes, but she still worried. She had neither weapons nor muscle so she was an easy target.

She closed her eyes again. She’d have to move again in the morning.

**_12 tributes remaining_ **


	6. The Games: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! I'm alive despite popular belief. 
> 
> Sorry this took me so long to update, but I've pretty much had to write a different paper every week for school and it sorta drained me. Also sorry this chapter is a little shorter. I intended on making it longer, but who knows when I'd be able to write again after this week? 
> 
> Any questions? Contact me on my tumblr: dontmakemechokeaginge  
> (I sound like an infomercial

_Day 2 – Early Morning_

Krista woke early the next morning with the goal of cleaning up any indication that she had been in the area. The fire she built must have gone out some time during the night, leaving her shivering when she first opened her eyes, but knowing she had to move quickly. The smoke cleared as far as Krista could see, but there was a chance another tribute saw, and she couldn’t take that chance.  Once she had cleaned up what she could, Krista slung her backpack over her shoulder and went north. Maybe.  She had never been particularly good with directions, but anywhere was better than where she was.

So she headed north, moving as quietly as she could, ignoring the deep rumbling coming from the pit of her stomach. It was hopeless, but Krista was hoping she would happen upon shelter. A vivid imagination popped into her head. One where she found a house full of food with no way anyone else could get in. A house with heat. She could make biscuits, or pancakes, or maybe even a cake if she wanted to.

Her stomach rumbled again, bringing her back to reality with a frown. She wanted to go home. Even if she was treated like an animal there, it was better than being threatened or chased, or going hungry. At least at home there was shelter, and she never had to worry about freezing to death. At home there wasn’t much to worry about besides hurt feelings. Now, she had to fight for her life.

As if on cue, wind blasted Krista in the face, bringing tears to her eyes. She furrowed her eyebrows, blinking back the tears with an annoyed grunt. Ugh, what was she thinking? It hadn’t even been 24 hours and she was already feeling sorry for herself. No, no, no, no. She couldn’t think that way. That was how people got killed. Whether by error or insanity, she wouldn’t allow herself to do that. _Couldn’t_ allow herself to do that. She was the one that volunteered for the Hunger Games. This situation was at the fault of her own hands.

Still, it was difficult. With no alliances, she felt isolated. Having to survive all by herself was a challenge, but Krista wasn’t sure she could trust other tributes. There were few that she would even consider. Most of them looked at her with sly, shifty eyes. Alarm bells rang when she looked at them. That tall one, Ymir, especially.

Krista looked toward the sky, wondering where the rest of the tributes were and what they were doing now.

Maybe it was time for a break.

~~~

Sasha’s head lolled to the side as her eyes fluttered open, almost, if not definitely, a little sticky and red-rimmed because of the events from the night before. For a few seconds, there was bliss. What happened the night before was just a nightmare, and until she was fully oriented, she was ignorant. However, the realization struck her like an arrow. Before she could force the thought back, Connie’s blood-spattered body flashed before her eyes against her will.

Sasha rubbed at her eyes before standing up. She must have fallen asleep against the tree sometime after District 1’s group chased her into hiding. She closed her eyes, fighting off the images of bloodied weapons and dangerous grins that threatened to come. _Monsters_ , she thought, _all of them._

Still, she had to become one of those monsters to win.

Her eyes flickered to the top of the tree she was standing beneath. With no hesitation, she leaped to the closest branch, using both hands to pull herself up. Once she had proper footing, Sasha leapt again, her hands closing around another branch that was about as thick as her wrist. Just as she went to pull herself up, the branch snapped with a loud – _CRACK!_ —sending Sasha flailing towards the ground.

She hissed when she hit the ground, her fall into the snow making a nice Sasha-sized imprint. Instead of getting up immediately, Sasha laid there, finding that no energy came to her.  For a few moments, she didn’t move. Couldn’t. When she finally gathered as much energy as she could, she got to her feet.

_Again,_ she thought.

She ran at the tree again, forcing herself to focus. Tree-climbing was second-nature to her. It shouldn’t be that difficult no matter how much she ached or how tired she was or how hungry she was. She could do it.

Quicker this time, she managed to make it towards the top of the tree with only a little difficulty. This gave her a clear view of the area, which was mostly just a flat, snowy clearing accompanied by a few trees here and there. Sasha pulled the bow from over her shoulder and set it in her lap. This was a good scouting point, she decided. It would be a struggle if she needed to move quickly, but wandering around made her nervous. It was best to stick to her guns.

~~~

_Late Morning_

Jean moved as silently as one could when stumbling. His limbs felt heavy, and his vision seemed to blur. Having been up the entire night, his eyes were bloodshot, the dark circles underneath darkening his face and sharpening his features. He’d been too paranoid to go to sleep the entire night, afraid he would wake up to a knife being pressed to his throat; or worse, not wake up at all. When he moved, his movements were clumsy, almost unnatural to him. It was clear he needed to rest, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. His mind went into overdrive at the mere thought, and at every break, he felt restless. His limbs violently twitched when he sat down, and his eye twitched constantly, even when closed.

At the rumbling of his stomach, Jean ungracefully threw himself down and unzipped his backpack. He rummaged through it for a few seconds before fishing out a can of beans. He made a face, but opened it despite the shiver of disgust that ran through him. He’d never been a fan of beans, but at this point, he’d eat anything.

He shoveled as much as he could into his mouth, swallowing just as he started to gag. He retched at the taste, his body jerking as he struggled not to vomit. Cursing his weak stomach, he tossed the can aside, standing up to move again. Maybe he could find somewhere safe to sit for a while if he traveled for a bit.

~~~

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

Mikasa crossed her arms, watching Armin create a contraption from just a few items. He insisted that he needed to borrow a few things from Eren and Mikasa’s bags almost immediately after the three of them had settled down. Armin seemed skittish around them at first, but became more comfortable with them after the night, and was persuasive in his reasoning.

Armin looked back at Mikasa after tying the strings to empty food cans with a meek smile. “Well…There’s always a chance it won’t work, but I think it might. If we plan on staying in this area, this will let us know if we have….” Armin trailed off.

“Visitors,” Mikasa finished for him.  

“Exactly.” Armin finished tying up what he needed just in time for Eren to return with firewood, as per request by Mikasa.

Eren’s eyes were full of wonder when he returned. “How does it work exactly?”

 Armin pointed at his camouflaged device, “If anyone were to cross through this area, they would trip these strings, and the cans would, uh, make noise. That way, we at least know if someone is coming, or if they’re nearby. It’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Eren shot Mikasa an _I told you so_ look, but his sister chose to ignore it. “You took more items from us though. Were you planning on making something else?” He asked Armin, putting a few logs into the fire.

Armin nodded, the eyelids of his eyes drooping slightly. “I spent most of the night putting traps around the area. Be careful out there. If you leave the area, I might have to help you navigate. Or, at least, show you where I put certain things.”

Eren grinned, patting Armin on the back after setting down the firewood. “See, Mikasa? I told you he was smart!”

Armin’s face reddened at the compliment. “T-Thank you.”

“Where did you learn all this stuff anyway?” Eren asked.

 “I just liked to read when I was home. My grandpa always lent me his books. A lot of them were about surviving and stuff.”

For the first time in a long time, Mikasa smiled. “Good job, Armin. At least now we can sleep peacefully.”

“Speaking of sleeping,” Armin yawned, “Would you mind if I took a little nap?”

Mikasa nodded, “Sure, Eren and I will watch your back while you do so.”

Armin tensed at that until Eren laughed. “Don’t worry. We won’t hurt you. I understand why you would think so though. Mikasa _can_ be a little scary.” He laughed, letting Armin know he was joking.

“Sorry, it’s just….Making friends has always been difficult for me. And the Games make me weary of everyone,” Armin rubbed his eyes. “But I need to get some sleep. So….I guess I’ll go lay down.”

“Have a good sleep, Armin. Thanks for all you’ve done so far,” Mikasa smiled as genuinely as she could.

The blonde nodded before lying down with a yawn.

~~~

 

After about an hour or two of moving, Jean came across a clearing. The area was open, which made him uneasy, but he decided to keep going after a quick glance each way. The snow crunched beneath his feet and sticks snapped, the sounds seeming loud to his own ears.

He moved slowly. Sleep deprivation had taken a toll on his motor skills. It hadn’t been as bad in the early morning, but now his lack of sleep was hitting him hard.  Jean had to put more effort into moving than he usually would have to when well rested and there was an ache in various parts of his body. 

He was also much clumsier.

No matter how hard he tried to avoid making noise, the sounds seemed to come no matter what he did or how careful he was.

Jean yawned. He really needed to rest.

~~~

The snapping of sticks made Sasha’s head jerk up. Her mind had drifted until the noise caught her attention, her eyes shooting up towards the clearing. There, in the middle of it, she saw a boy around her age moving sluggishly from one end of the clearing to the next.

Sasha’s fingers twitched against the bow in her lap.

He was about 35 feet away from her, and if she really tried, Sasha could strike him without much effort. Around his shoulders was a bag, and if she could take him down, she’d have more food and supplies.

Slowly, she stood up, hoping not to bring attention to herself. The trees on both sides of her provided enough cover that made seeing Sasha difficult, but she couldn’t take a chance. With a deep breath, she held her bow in front of her and drew it back. She took her time aiming, making sure to account for the breeze. She breathed in and out for longer than needed, trying to psych herself out. This was the goal of the Games.

With one last deep breath, she let the arrow fly.

~~~

Searing pain shook Jean’s body as the arrow pierced his upper right thigh, ripping through skin and muscle like it was nothing.

Jean screamed, falling on his front to frantically grab at his leg. When he saw the arrow, his eyes wildly darted around, trying to find the culprit but found nothing. He tried to move but the pain was so much that he had to bite his own tongue to keep from screaming again. He rearranged himself, putting all of his weight on his left knee. With his upper body hunched over, Jean looked back at his leg again, his hands shaking, trying to decide whether to just yank out the arrow or leave it in.

Breathing harshly between clenched teeth, he tried to move again. Whoever was shooting at him had a clear shot. Jean was a perfect target if he didn’t get out of the way.

He forced himself to his feet, managing to stand up despite the pain. Putting all his weight on his left leg, he limped as quickly as he could.

~~~

Sasha closed her eyes, swallowing bile when she heard the screams.  _She_ did this to him. Now he was in pain. _Why do they do this to us? Pit us against each other?_

She shook her head. She didn’t have time to have a moral debate with herself. She opened her eyes, despite the urge to keep them closed, and brought the bow in front of her again, reaching into her quiver for another arrow. When she’d reloaded, she drew it back again.

Her body trembled, and she wanted nothing more than to stop, but she let it go.

~~~

Jean screamed again when another arrow pierced his left side, this time his vision dimming and nearly going black. He fell, struggling to stay conscious. With wide eyes, Jean glanced at the arrow sticking out of his side, tears stinging his eyes. Fuck, it hurt. It hurt so badly.

_I’m done for. I’m so done for._

He had no other choice but to crawl. No matter what way he positioned his body, pain exploded through him, making him hiss and sputter. When he tried to get to his feet, he would stumble.

Jean glanced ahead, towards the tree line. He had about 20 feet before he was out of the shooter’s sight, and if he moved quickly enough, maybe he could get away.

~~~

Sasha watched her target pathetically stumble from the middle of the clearing towards the end. She brought her bow up again, aiming at him for now a third time, and simply watched him for a while. Her target was like a wounded animal stuck in a trap. Even from a distance, she could hear the sounds of pain coming from him. It made her cringe.

Sasha bit her lip, lowering her bow to her side. She definitely did not want to shoot a third arrow. If she waited, her target would most likely die on his own, and if she shot again, she might be wasting ammo. Sasha didn’t know how many arrows she would need for the Games, and she couldn’t stomach the thought of shooting him again.  Even if she would be putting him out of his misery.

She watched her target escape into the tree line, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he went.

~~~

When Jean finally got out of sight, any and all effort to stay upright went away. He fell onto his stomach, breathing like a fish out of water, sharp pain shooting up his spine. The only movement he was able to accomplish was rolling over to lie on his back so his face wasn’t sitting in snow.

He stared at the sky, his vision blurring in and out. Jean tried to force his eyes open, but they drooped closed against his will.

_This is it for me,_ was his last thought.

Then, everything went dark.

 

 

 

 


End file.
